


they were all messages of love

by rubycrowned



Category: 1D - Fandom, One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Love Actually - Freeform, M/M, crossover fic, xmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycrowned/pseuds/rubycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a 'love actually' crossover fic...</p><p>louis can't separate his head from his heart; zayn can but doesn't know how to act on it; and niall has a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they were all messages of love

**Author's Note:**

> hello my darlings.
> 
> this fic is for my absolute babe of a girl catherine camille for xmas bc she's a right bitch and pitched this to me just as i was trying to figure out what to write for her xmas present. so here we are.
> 
> all pairings mentioned in the tags are either side pairings or only mentioned EXCEPT LOURRY AND ZIAM. (just for those sensitive to one or more of them)
> 
> each pairing is linked to one main storyline of love actually, however, since there are more storylines than characters, I have added hints of a couple more alongside their main ones (it's like a 'spot them all' game). there are also a couple storylines i haven't worked in at all (and some of them were my faves so I'm sorry for that).
> 
> the 'verse is mostly canon but i've used my creative license for a few things - dates and place aren't always entirely correct, danielle and liam stayed broken up and perrie and zayn either never existed or are distant exes.
> 
> hope you enjoy and, even though they're mostly over, happy holidays

_3 weeks to Christmas_

_***_

The karaoke bar is dim and smoky; redbluepurple lights pulse down on the singers in time with the music.

Only four hours ago, Louis had been standing on stage in _Madison Square Gardens_ in front of eighteen thousand people, all screaming for him and his four best mates. He can still feel the rush coursing through his veins, burning up his oxygen to leave him red-faced and breathless, bouncing with energy.

And even with all of the singing they were _made_ to do these days (and Louis loved it, he did, more than anything – but sometimes it felt almost like a chore), and although, by all rights, his voice should be beyond wrecked right now, Louis couldn’t resist the idea of loud and unabashed karaoke, which let him just have _fun_.

They were all here too, all five of them, which is something that hardly ever happens anymore, and only puts him on an even higher state of euphoria.

But, as he and Eleanor sing a shameless rendition of _Flaws_ (and Louis tries to focus on the fact he picked the track because it has been stuck in his head for weeks and not the reason why it has been – who had played it on repeat for days – or the way the lyrics ring hollow in his chest as he sings _ones we’ve inherited, ones that we learned_ ), he can't help his gaze drifting over Eleanor's shoulder to where Taylor Swift is whispering prettily into Harry's ear ( _there’s a hole, in my soul, can you fill it?_ ).

It’s a fairly new development and, while not exactly unexpected from what Harry's mentioned to him the past couple months, it still leaves Louis' gut churning uncomfortably.

Still he plasters a smile back onto his face as he meets El's eyes for the final lines ( _look at the wonderful mess that we made, we pick ourselves undone_ ), hoping she can't see through the cracks in his mask. And he resolutely interlinks their fingers as they step off of the low stage and refuses to flinch as Taylor drags Harry past them, _come on, our song’s already picked_.

They take a seat next to Zayn, startling him back to reality with a hand on his knee as he jerks his head away from where Liam and Niall are stood on the other side of the room selecting songs and giggling with Ed.

The opening bars of Snow Patrol fill the air, and Louis can hear Harry say with no small amount of wonder in his voice, “How did you know? This is one of my favourites.”

But he can almost feel Taylor shaking her perfectly coiffed head, and his head instinctively spins in their direction when she rushes out a, “Louis told me it'd be a good choice,” before she slips into the first line ( _I find the map and draw a straight line_ )

 _Set the Fire to the Third Bar_ probably isn't the most classic or uplifting of karaoke songs, but the two of them make a duet which is far too easy to lose yourself in. Between Harry's gravelly emotive voice ( _I touch the place where I’d find your face_ ), and the really quite beautiful harmony Taylor gives the piece, Louis can't quite take his eyes off them ( _the laughter penetrates my silence_ ). As much as he might want to ( _as drunken men find flaws in science_ ). He doesn't even bother responding when Eleanor disentangles her hand from his, clasping her hands in her own lap and fixing him with a stare Louis knows from experience will be laced with equal parts sadness and frustration ( _I’m miles from where you are_ ).

But Harry looks like he's born to be on stage (always does, always has, but Louis rarely has the opportunity to really bask in it), and in the rare moments he keeps his eyes open, and can tear them from Taylor's, he's glancing toward Louis, smiling as though Louis has given him the world.

_And I pray that something picks me up-_

Not that it’s ever enough.

- _and sets me down in your warm arms._

They end up leaving not much later, just him and Eleanor, and wind up at a party that Louis doesn’t even remember getting invited to. But there are people congratulating him, and more shots than he can count, and maybe that will just have to do.

That night he and Eleanor go back to their hotel and Louis fucks her (the way he takes her from behind, unwilling to let her see the way his face crumples when he comes too quick to memories of past times and daydreams of times never existing is not deserving of the title ‘making love’). He rolls her over and immediately ducks his head to go down on her in apology, flicking his tongue over her clit as he thrusts two fingers in and out of her in a steady rhythm. He makes his mind focus solely on making Eleanor feel good, because this he can do, this he _should_ be doing. He puts his energy into the pressure and heat of his movements, to try and get Eleanor moaning despite herself, to try to make her loud enough that it overshadows the guilt and blame that seems to constantly be between them these days. He slides his thumb up to rub down hard on her clit and Eleanor's noises change pitch and her thighs shake around Louis' shoulders as she writhes through her orgasm.

Louis doesn't stop until she calms a bit and gives his head a half-hearted shove. He wipes at his mouth as he lifts himself back up the bed and leans in to give Eleanor a kiss goodnight, but she turns her head so he catches the side of her jaw instead. He knows she's never really liked the taste of herself on Louis' tongue, but usually she'll still allow a quick peck before they fall asleep snuggling.

Tonight though, she rolls over without speaking a word to face away from Louis, even though she's always been irritated by the insistent light of the alarm clocks in the cookie cutter hotel rooms they stay in, now burning through her eyelids.

Normally Louis would reach around and pull her close to at least spoon (Louis' never been good with distance, and isn't that hypocritical, but at least the physical distance he can usually fix), but he gets the feeling it would only make things worse right now.

Instead Louis lies a foot and a mile away from his girlfriend on their tousled bed and tries to fall asleep and escape the darkness pressing in on all sides.

***

“You know what I want?”

“What Nialler?” Zayn asks from where his head rests on Liam's shoulder (because the high is starting to wear off and the beers make him drowsy and Liam's shoulder may or may not be Zayn’s favourite pillow but only because it’s comfy okay).

“I want to get laid.”

“Um, Ni?” Even upside down Zayn can see Liam has his confused-puppy face on. “You just turned down those two girls who bought us these drinks... _two_ girls.”

“But it doesn't _count_ ,” Niall gestures in exasperation; almost spilling his pint, but managing to avoid soaking Liam's lap, “because they only want me to fuck them because we're _One Direction_. I just want someone to want to sleep with me for me for once.”

Niall actually does look kind of dejected, so Zayn reaches an arm across Liam to tousle Niall's hair before dropping it onto Liam's legs; he curls his fingers around Liam's thigh only to start picking at his jeans when Liam doesn't seem to respond at all.

“It'll be alright mate. You'll find someone.”

“Ah, but see - I've been thinking ‘bout it right? I have a plan.”

“Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to regret bearing witness to this?” Liam tilts his head to murmur in Zayn’s ear.

“Because you know if we’re ever interrogated about it we can't honestly tell the cops we know nothing.”

“Shut up and listen you two. Get this - I'm going to go to Australia for Christmas.”

Zayn’s pretty sure the face Liam's pulling - carefully neutral, yet eyebrows rocketing off his face, out of his conscious control - is identical to his own.

“Niall? You do _remember_ what the Australian fans were like, right?” Zayn asks hesitantly.

“The screaming and the crying and the fainting? Like normal I guess but somehow twenty times worse because of I don’t even know what?” Liam adds.

“But Australia guys!”

“Fuck. Niall it’s going to be _summer_ when you get there. Do you _know_ how hot Australia gets in summer?”

“Mate you almost literally turned into a crisp in April. That's _cold_ for them.”

“Relax guys. It’s all fine. I have a plan.”

Somehow Niall's cheery grin does nothing to comfort Zayn.

“We need more drinks. Maybe then you'll forget all about this conversation and just make us dress up like elves again.” Liam clambers to his feet, setting Zayn upright with gentle hands and stumbling off to the bar muttering things under his breath that sounded suspiciously like _demon creatures_ , and Zayn’s not too sure if he’s referring to Santa’s helpers or Australians.

“Zayn.”

Niall snaps him from his reverie, hypnotised by the way Liam’s arse sticks out as he tries to hail the bartender.

“Mm?”

“How long have you been a part of One Direction?”

“Uh, two years, four months, eleeeeven days? And about eleven hours. Obviously.” Zayn can’t help the sarcasm because, really, what sort of question was that?

Niall only smirks knowingly before putting on his ‘serious’ face.

“And so how long have you been in love with Liam for then?”

Zayn just about chokes on his own spit.

“I-,” but Niall’s still looking at him, apparently intent on an answer. Zayn’s eyes dart back to Liam, just now getting someone’s attention. “Well I suppose that makes it something like…two years, four months, eleven days and probably nine and a half hours.”

Niall's face finally buckles and he bursts out laughing.

“Ah, mate; about what we thought, then.”

“Wait. We? How many of you know?”

“Zayn, I don't think there's a soul alive that can't tell you think something magical comes out that boys arse,” and the comment’s accompanied by a lewd wink that Zayn isn’t even going to _start_ thinking about.

He’s pretty sure his stubble must just about be grazing the floor.

“But, I-”

Niall cuts him off with a look and a raised eyebrow.

“Mate, I love you, but you're about as subtle as a sack of bricks covered with strobe lights. When Li wandered off to the bar just now, you looked about seconds away from breaking down completely and dry humping him right here.”

“Oh.” Zayn’s shoulders slump a bit, but Niall scoots along to take the space Liam left and knocks shoulders with him.

“It’s alright, you know.”

“Yeah?” And Zayn’s not sure which part exactly Niall’s referring to, but he holds onto it anyway.

“Course it is. But,” Niall leans in conspiratorially, “Maybe you might wanna get in on that sooner rather than later?”

“Niall, it’s _Liam_ ; I'm pretty sure he’s not ev-”

“Zayn you two are fucking stupid for each other. It’s disgusting. I'm only really telling you this because you make me nauseous. Off my appetite.  All the time-”

“Shut up, you twat. Ok. I _get_ it. Just shut your gob, will you; he's coming back over.”

They're watching Liam attempt to balance three lagers between the people crowding near the karaoke stage as Harry and Ed yell along to _Summer of ‘69_ , when something else hits Zayn.

“Hold on. If everyone knows does that mean-”

“Here you go, lads.”

Liam sinks into the spare seat with a sigh, just barely avoiding spilling beer all over them. Niall shrugs a shoulder and pulls a face that seems to say _Sack. Of. Bricks._

Later that night (or early the next morning; it’s that sort of hour that Zayn’s not entirely which to go with), Zayn and Liam drop Niall off at his room on their way past with a drunken goodnight yelled after them.

They reach Zayn’s room first and, before Zayn can scramble through his pockets for his key-card, Liam jerks him into a tight hug.

“We did good tonight, Zayn,” Liam whispers proudly into Zayn’s ear, his breath making Zayn shiver as it tickles the short hair at the back of his neck.

“The best,” he agrees, allowing himself to duck his head into the warm space between Liam's neck and shoulder that has always seemed to be made solely for Zayn. He squeezes Liam closer for just a second then pulls back, disarmed as always by Liam's unguarded smile.

Liam let's him go, steps away and gives Zayn back his personal space; Zayn resents its return immediately.

They stand watching each other for a moment – Zayn knows why _he's_ reluctant to leave; Liam's more of a mystery.

There’s still a small smile on Liam's face when he next speaks, but there's a quirk to his lips which Zayn’s intuition names wistful, and which the rest of him doesn't understand.

“Goodnight, Zayn.”

“Goodnight, Liam.”

***

_Two weeks to Christmas_

_***_

_u were taking photos after msg yeah?_

Louis stares at his phone, only mildly confused by Harrys apropos nothing text.

_a couple…how come?_

He's waiting idly for a poorly worded explanation when his phone bursts into life, buzzing in his hand and blaring some song Louis doesn't know (because the pretentious git picked it out and now Louis recognises the caller purely from the familiarly unfamiliar ringtone)

“Hello?”

“So I was wondering if you’d managed to get any photos of me and Taylor last week because I know it’s dumb and it’s only been a couple weeks but I feel like I need to get her _something_ for her birthday, and Christmas for that matter. And like I've got her a necklace I saw her staring at when we walked past this market back in New York but I was thinking I could, you know, like frame a nice pic of us to go with it or something-”

Harry’s rambling.

“You're rambling.”

“I- sorry, yeah. Don't know why I'm doing that.”

“’s okay,” Louis manages around the bile that isn't actually coming up but he kinda wishes _was_ so he had an excuse for feeling so nauseous.

“So do you think you might have any that might work?”

“Um, I'm not sure. I'll have to have a look, I guess.”

“Ok, that's cool,” Harry pauses, “You don't think it’s too sappy or ought right?”

He sounds almost vulnerable and Louis simultaneously wants to hug him and punch him in the face.

“Haz. You _are_ a sap,” and he winces slightly at the nickname, clearing his throat which suddenly feels a bit thick, “Hey I'm not actually sure what's going to be left to be honest. I don't really remember too much of that night after the concert, but I have this vague recollection of having to delete some pics so I could take more. And I don’t think I gave much thought to what I took off.”

Louis tone isn't exactly the most accommodating, and he can tell from Harry’s stilted reply that he’s noticed.

“Oh, ok. Well still.”

“You know you could’ve just asked me at lunch in,” Louis gives the clock on the wall a cursory glance, “half an hour.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Just a sec,” he mutters into his phone as he pulls the door open.

“Well I know I _could’ve_ , but this way I could pick you up and you could give them to me before we left,” Harry beams at him from the doorway as he pockets his own cell phone in his coat.

Louis forces a smile to his face.

“You are one of the most impatient people I know, Harry Styles.”

“That’s why you love me, though,” Harry says fondly as he shrugs an arm round Louis’ shoulder to walk them into the lounge, Louis freezing a little, but apparently unnoticed by Harry who continues on, “But, really, isn’t that a little of the pot and the kettle or something?”

“Ha. Yeah. Probably- hey it’s a shame you had to detour round here though,” Louis gestures meaninglessly with his hands, just for something to do, so he doesn’t have to see them shaking maybe, “But like I said, I don’t really know what I have, let alone if there’s anything you-”

Harry hits the underside of Louis’ right hand – the one holding his phone; making Louis release it and, in a show of supreme dexterity Louis was completely certain Harry didn’t possess, caught the device with his own monstrous hand.

“’s alright,” Harry punches in Louis’ passcode and, really, why is it that this band is so in each other’s pockets that having access to everyone’s phones had ever been considered a good idea? “We can have a look on the way and I’ll just email whichever ones I like on to me.”

“But I- Harry I don’t think you want-”

Harry stops to look up at Louis’ face, which Louis’ almost certain is beetroot red right now, thumb hovering over the screen. Suddenly his face flickers into a grimace.

“Oh, _Lou_. You and El don’t have-” He’s gesticulating wildly and it takes a second before comprehension hits Louis.

“What, _no_. Harry,” he’s choking a little and it doesn’t even occur to him ‘til later that this would’ve been the perfect out if he hadn’t been so determined to put the idea out of Harry’s mind because- “ _No_. Also why the hell would I be dumb enough to keep that shit on my phone?”

“Jesus, well that’s okay then. I had some terrifying images in my mind there for a sec,” Harry jumps back a little as if waiting for Louis to whack him for such a comment, but Louis’ still a little struck dumb, so he goes turns back to the phone, “Well there’s not much else you could have on here that’d scar me too badly so- wow Louis you’ve really got your drunk finger going in some of these selfies.”

“Shut up,” Louis says half-heartedly, but it’s on autopilot. He knows there’s no way to stop this from unfolding now. Because, when Harry sees, there’s no way he won’t know.

“Awww. Me and Ed. You know, for drunk pics these aren’t too bad. Might be some good ones to find yet.”

Louis knows the exact moment he’s started to realise the pattern. That second Harry stops humming to himself as he scrolls through the gallery and the house goes silent. He can see on his closed eyelids (he can’t look at Harry, not yet) what Harry’s seeing, clear as day.

Picture upon picture.

Of Harry.

Whether looking directly at Louis, dorky face pulled at the camera, or even just a smile. Or maybe a blurry pic snapped just at the right moment, of nothing in particular, but still making Louis’ heart catch in his chest.

He won’t see most of the old ones. He’s only looking at the ones from last week. He won’t see the backlog, see just how deep this particular rabbit hole goes.

But he’ll see enough. See the ones where the shot is clearly taken to crop out other people; the photos which are zoomed in and Louis can almost pretend that it’s him Harry looks at like that.

“Lou.”

He drags his eyes open, terrified of finding Harry shrinking away from him because he knows.

“I didn’t- I didn’t know, Louis.”

“It’s fine, Harry,” Louis says tiredly, fighting the urge to press his thumb and forefinger into his eyes; he shrugs, trying for nonchalance, “it’s nothing.”

Still trying to hide it.

“But, Louis... but you’ve always been my best mate,” The _just my best mate_ hangs unspoken, “And what about-”

“Oh, shit. Harry I’m sorry I just realised I can’t actually come out to lunch today – I promised El we would go into town to get something for her parents for Christmas,” Louis cuts over him, unable to do this anymore, unable to pretend for longer than it takes for him to back his way to the front door, “Give my apologies to the boys? Just leave the key on top of the window frame when you leave, yeah? Sorry. Bye.”

He doesn’t even slow when he hears the _but, Louis, your phone!_ as the door shuts behind him, stepping blindly onto the pavement and pretending that the stinging in his eyes is from the bitter December wind.

***

“So all the girls watching this will be _dying_ to know; which of you are currently single then?”

Zayn sighs.

It’s another unoriginal entertainment reporter who seems to think that _this time_ when the question’s asked, because of course the boys will like her better than the others, the answer will be different.

It’s actually possible she might’ve too, what with Taylor hanging off Harry’s arm everywhere you turned the past weeks or two, but Harry’s off god-knows-where, and Zayn wishes he was with him.

Instead he’s here, on a red carpet, speaking up with a cheery voice he likes to think is almost an art form at this point, informing her that _actually, Lou’s the only one with a girlfriend at the moment_ , while his grip on Liam’s waist tightens slightly and Zayn’s thumb brushes soothingly up and down his side, hidden behind Niall’s suit jacket.

Liam and Danielle broke up months ago now, but Zayn knows it’s still a sensitive subject for him. Breaking up had been the right thing for both, but Liam had genuinely thought he would be with Danielle forever, and things had ended on a note which hadn’t provided much closure for either.

It hurt Zayn knowing that there was still a part of Liam that wanted to be with his ex, but it hurt him more to know that _Liam_ was hurting.

So it’d been an easy decision.

Zayn became protective of Liam, tried to keep him away from the prying questions and made sure Liam knew he was always there if he needed someone to talk to, or a hug, or even just someone to sit with and watch the city lights which changed only minutely from one night to the next, one state, one country to the next.

And Zayn might feel a little piece of himself crumbling away each time he catches a Liam with a sad smile on his face, looking at Zayn as though he _knows_ Zayn will notice him,

But Zayn knows he’s going to _keep_ noticing, keep doing anything it takes to make Liam happy.

For as long as it takes.

***

_One week to Christmas_

_***_

Eleanor breaks up with Louis.

It really should be to the surprise of no one, in the end. But when the words are finally hurled, Louis still feels blindsided by the impact.

Things haven't been right between them for a long time now, since summer; since Louis and the boys had come off tour really (and isn't that ironic; that being apart was the only thing that had kept them close for all this time).

And Louis’ tried to make things right; he really, truly has.

He's tried spending more time, less time, family time, _quality_ time. He's tried turning down the humour he knows can become abrasive; he's tried hamming it up. He's bought her gifts, given her surprises, made her dinner (kind of). He's flown her halfway around the world to be part of the biggest moments in his life and he's tried to be there for hers too. He's taken her out to expensive restaurants and exclusive clubs, and he's stayed in under a shaggy blanket on the sofa while they watch one of the god-awful Owen Wilson movies she seems to like and eat Chinese takeout from the box.

He doesn't know how else he could've fixed it. To prevent it getting to the point where he let himself into her flat to surprise her with blueberry muffins for morning tea on an unremarkable Tuesday in December, only to find a half-naked Andy _fucking_ Samuels in her kitchen and an Eleanor stepping out of her bedroom in only a hastily-put-on, oversized jumper; long curls hidden, still trapped beneath its collar.

“That's the problem,” she says, after Andy had been ushered out the door, Louis pacing back and forth almost as fast as his mind raced and searched and fell apart, trying to pick up the pieces and find the broken one, to glue it before it crumbled.

“This isn’t something that’s just going to be ‘fixed’, Louis. It’s got nothing to do with me and Andy, with the cheating – although it has everything to do with why. And no,” she lifts a hand to silence him before he can even start (and why did he never appreciate how well she knew him until it was too little, too late?), “it’s nothing you can change.” She laughs, and it tastes bitter even to Louis’ tongue. “It’s taken me over a year of waiting but I’ve finally figured that one out. It’s not even your fault, Louis. And it’s certainly not mine.”

“Then whose is it? El, why are we having this conversation?”

Eleanor moves forward and brings a hand to cup Louis’ cheek. And maybe they both flinch a little at the contact, but she keeps it there, and when she speaks her tone’s soft.

“You’re never going to stop loving him, are you? Not enough for it to matter. I spent a year of my life hoping that one day you’d see me the way you see him, just for a moment. But I can’t, couldn’t, wait forever, Lou. And I might just be another notch on Andy’s bedpost at the end of the day, but he still managed to make me feel more… _important_ than I ever did in a room where he was with you.”

The fact that Louis can’t even bring himself to truly care about finding out Andy had been sleeping with his girlfriend probably should’ve been enough. But he’s spent so long telling himself he could hide this, could do the right thing and ignore the other parts, that he’s struggling to grasp that, really, it’s _him_ who’s been discovered.

“Eleanor-”

“No, Louis,” her voice is all steely determination now, “You can’t fix this and neither can I. But I can do this. I can ask you to leave. And I can ask you to please,” neither of them calls attention to the crack in Eleanor’s voice, “don’t come back.”

***

_5 nights to Christmas_

_***_

Niall’s not really sure how to deal with a sad Louis.

Niall is intimately familiar with ridiculous Louis – the Louis that gets played up for the cameras and builds this giant wall around him that some days even _they_ only get a peek through. The way Niall treats that is generally to join in, or to sit on the sidelines and laugh; to let him know he’s _there_ and wait until he’s ready to talk to him, or to at least go find Harry or Zayn. It doesn’t matter who.

He’s quite well acquainted with off-the-walls Louis – the Louis that is almost definitely nervous or insecure or apprehensive about something that is about to happen. This one Niall will tackle onto the sofa under the pretence of rough housing, but wind up holding him tight in a bear hug. To communicate without the words Niall knows Louis will never believe just how much he’s appreciated; how much they all love and believe in him. Eventually he’ll stop shaking.

He knows when best to leave alone if bitchy Louis comes along, face like a cats arse and ready to hurl insults at the first person who crosses his path. There’s usually something underlying this too, but Niall knows it’s not his role to try fix this. It doesn’t bother Niall too much – he doesn’t like seeing Louis anything but happy, but he knows he can’t diffuse this particular bomb and it’s easier to just try and distract anyone who might be within the blast radius from getting any closer.

Affectionate Louis is Niall’s favourite, for obvious reasons. This is when Niall gets the boy who is not only one of the best friends Niall’s ever had, but also the guy he’s looked up to for over two years now. He’s kind of one of Niall’s favourite people. And whether it’s snuggling up on the sofa in front of one of Louis’ soaps, or watching with tears of laughter rolling down his cheeks as the others sprint the corridors back stage, trying to outrun Paul after they’re caught mid-prank, it’s the Louis that makes Niall happiest.

But sad Louis. Niall can count the number of times he’s seen him on one hand and still have spares. And it’s kind of like the sun’s caved in on itself. Niall knows people refer to himself as the sunshine one, but he knows it’s really Louis; that when he’s shining the rest of them do too. And that when Louis collapses inwards, the rest of them all get caught in his black hole alongside him.

The thing is, it’s not just Eleanor. They’ve all seen that coming from a mile off, even if Louis didn’t (and he’s really quite sure Louis’ just in denial). There’s something else too, the thing that’s really upsetting him, and he won’t speak to anyone about it.

And it’s _hard_ , because they all want to help, but Louis’ been distant the past couple of months. He separated himself from the rest of them, and while Niall knows he was trying anything and everything to get back in Eleanor’s good books, it’s like Louis put up a barrier between them.

It’s not impenetrable. It’s really only a garden fence, with an unlocked gate. But it’s like Louis isn’t quite sure if coming through it would be trespassing now, no matter how much they all wave at him to come inside already.

Not exactly the way Niall had pictured this Christmas.

But it isn’t Christmas yet.

And Niall has his own plans.

Step one: dye.

***

They’re back in America – _again_ – this time for the US X-Factor finale.

Zayn thinks every version on the planet just wants a piece of them – literally the poster boys for success in the show – and if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s _Simon Cowell_ asking them (and Zayn’s not sure even Simon’s own mother can say no to someone that powerful), he’s not sure they’d still be saying yes.

But the performance is over, the results announced, and now, _now_ it’s time for the after-party.

Zayn’s ready to get shit-faced.

He’s fairly well on his way as he stands watching the vast majority of people dancingly drunkenly on the dance floor, having a conversation with himself that he’s not entirely sure is kept within his head about whether or not Louis’ trying to dance with every single person at the party.

“Just one dance?”

Zayn will deny he jumped, but seeing as his hand’s now got whisky and coke splashed over it, he’s not sure how well it’d hold up under investigation.

Liam’s standing there sheepishly, and Zayn tries to discreetly wipe his hand off on the inside of his trouser pocket while he manages to (very smoothly) stutter out, “Who- me?”

And then Liam’s scuffing his shoe against the wooden floor and saying, “Well, I just thought, you looked like you could do with one. Unless you just-”

“ _No_. I- no. Good,” Zayn hopes he’s smiling winningly and not looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights, “Yes. Thanks.”

He dumps his drink, glass and all, in the pot plant sat against the wall behind them and follows Liam out onto the dance floor where everyone is jumping and screaming along to _Good Time_. This, at least, is something Zayn can dance to, if you’d call it that. It’s easy to get lost in the mindless bouncing as Carly Rae Jepsen tells them to put their _hands up if you’re down to get down tonight_ , and grin at Liam whose cheeks are flushed red and his eyes are so crinkled Zayn can barely see his irises under the lights.

It’s when the music cuts abruptly into a new song, though, and Zayn had only agreed to one dance, but this is a slow song, and Liam’s looking at him all imploringly like he _wants_ Zayn to stay out here with him, and everyone’s either partnering off or giggling and wandering off for more nibbles and booze and Aaliyah is telling them they _seem like you need some loving_ and when Liam opens his arms for him and Zayn’s heart is trying to tear itself from his chest to jump into them, Zayn rolls his eyes and thinks _fine; if anyone can get away with something vaguely homoerotic it’s us_. Zayn pretty much has money on the fact that they could be caught by photographic evidence with their mouths round each other’s dicks and it would still be spun as a joke between mates that most of the world would happily swallow.

And swaying slowly, feet stepping out of time to the music, it feels an awful lot like home in Liam’s arms. Zayn doesn’t think he’d realised just how _exhausted_ he is with it all until he rests his chin on Liam’s shoulder and feels everything washing away with the music ( _there is no need to worry, no_ ).

It’s like the rest of the world ceases to exist for a minute or two. And then Liam leans back a bit, searching out Zayn’s eyes. He looks… _happy_ , Zayn thinks, and somehow, it’s him that’s done it. It’s a bit like a revelation. Because Zayn’s fucking _ecstatic_ too, and the grin won’t stay off his face

Which of course is when ( _gotta let you know_ ) Liam darts his eyes around quickly before pressing the briefest of pecks to the corner of Zayn’s smiling lips.

 _Oh_.

( _I care for you_ )

He doesn’t know how they leave the party, making excuses; or how they get back to the hotel. All he knows is the heat of Liam’s handprint on the small of his back. There isn’t any promise of anything more when they reach their rooms, but it’s the being _alone_ , with an emphasis that’s never properly been there before, and the knowledge that something is maybe shifting between them that leaves Zayn’s heart racing.

It’s almost like déjà vu, when they stop outside Zayn’s door, and they wait just a moment too long before Liam says,

“Well then. I’d better go.”

And Zayn means to say _okay, goodnight, Li_ , but then Liam’s kissing him soft and short and sweet in the empty hallway, and when he goes to pull away, Zayn chases his lips down and presses himself up against Liam insistently, tongue stroking the seam of Liam’s lips until it gives way to wet heat.

And when they break away, Liam mentions, “Actually. I don’t _have_ to go.”

“Right. Good.”

And then they’re kissing again, doorknob jammed awkwardly against Zayn’s back, but he couldn’t really care less, until he feels Liam against his hip and then suddenly, urgently, Zayn really wants to take this inside, where there’s a bed.

“Erm, yeah. That’s definitely good,” Zayn babbles when he detaches himself and tries to focus, “Um, can you just give me one sec?”

Liam’s staring at him bemused, but it’s fond, and he nods quietly, so Zayn finds his key card and slots it, opening the door wide enough to slip through and leave Liam waiting in the hall.

Zayn’s not going to lie; he may let out a small whimper in the darkness of the suite (a whimper that might actually be more of screech he’s only ever heard come from the mouths of teenage girls). Because this is, this is _happening_. And holy hell, Zayn never actually had believed Niall when he said it was a genuine option.

He flips the light on and stares at the bombsite that is his room.

Then he turns back to the door and sticks his head outside.

“Ok, erm, that’s done. How about you come in in about ten seconds?”

“Ten seconds?” Liam is quirking his eyebrow and looking endlessly amused, but he accepts the key card Zayn passes him through the door.

“Ten seconds.”

And then he shuts the door in Liam’s face for the second time.

But he’s not really giving that much thought as he sprints to the bed and tries to grab as many of the clothes strewn in the immediate vicinity of it as possible and shove them on the floor of the wardrobe and wonders how he managed to make such a mess in the literal half hour they spent in the hotel before they headed to the X-Factor studios that afternoon.

It’s not like Liam doesn’t know just how messily Zayn lives, but it seems like an important distinction between finding an odd sock under Zayn’s pillow when they’re lazing about on their laptops compared to if Zayn is busy sucking Liam off.

When Liam steps into the room, Zayn’s feeling vaguely less flustered.

They stand there, just watching each other, drinking each other in with new appreciation for a moment, from opposite sides of the room.

They’re still metres from each other when they both slowly take off their jackets, wary of breaking this fragile spell, and tossing them towards various pieces of furniture.

There’s one more long second which passes, and then the gap between them is closed in a fraction of that, until their chests are pressing flush and hands are tangled in Zayn’s hair and Zayn rubs imprints into the back of Liam’s head, craving the curls he used to twirl around his finger on lazy days, but turned on by the texture beneath his fingertips.

Nothing careful goes into this kiss; Zayn’s mouth feels bruised almost instantly, and he’s dying to take as much of Liam for himself as he can – he’s not sure that everything would be enough.

Breaking the kiss is an unfortunate but necessary sacrifice in order to remove more clothing, but it’s worth it when the result is Zayn straddling Liam on the bed, feeling the planes of his torso beneath his wandering hands. It’s worth it when Liam stares up at him with an amazement that makes him look as though he thinks _Liam’s_ the lucky one.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, you know?” Liam murmurs.

No. It’s definitely Zayn who’s won the lottery in this case.

Zayn pushes Liam down into the mattress, kissing trails along his jaw, and down the line of his neck, following Liam’s collarbone until he meets shoulder, while his hands snake feather-light patterns down his sides and his hips grind down involuntarily at the feel of Liam’s blunt nails digging into Zayn’s back.

His hands have Liam’s belt buckle undone and is just working the button of his trousers open – so close to his goal – when Zayn’s phone starts wailing from his own pocket. He sits upright, looking forlornly at Liam’s glassy, pupil-blown eyes and puffy lips.

“I- I should get that.”

He half expects Liam to tell him to ignore it, maybe to hang up the phone and throw it in the corner to hide amongst the clothes; he half wants him to. But Liam just watches him patiently, if with a slight crease in his brow.

“Hello? Heya babe, how’s it going?” He glances down at Liam, still beneath him, and swallows hard, “No I’m not too busy. What’s up?”

He climbs off Liam to sit on the edge of the bed, away from Liam’s too-knowing eyes.

“Yeah it was great. Glad you approve. Mhmm, huge after party. Just got back, actually. No, yeah, it is pretty late here now. Ok, then. Love you. Bye.”

He looks back at Liam quickly, sitting at the foot of the bed, unable to hold his gaze for too long.

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No, Zayn; it’s fine.”

“It’s Doniya. She’s, she’s not doing so well. Lost her job last week, might have to move back in with Mum and Dad. She calls a lot lately.”

Liam reaches out for Zayn’s thigh to squeeze gently.

“Sorry.”

“No it’s fine. I- well no it’s not fine,” Zayn’s frustrated, and it’s not at Liam, it’s just the situation, but he finds it spilling over, “because the whole point of getting this big and making tough choices and working our arses off was so that we could take care of our families, right? And she won’t let me help her. She won’t let me pay her rent, and she won’t let me help her find another job, and all I get to do is listen to her talk about reality TV while I pretend not to hear her crying on the other end of the line. She’s lonely. And I’m her brother. And I’m on the other side of the world.”

“It’s ok, Zayn. I get it. Families don’t always behave the way you want them to, even when you’re only trying to help. But she’s not the only Malik I know who’s been lonely. So…” Liam tilts his head pointedly, and Zayn’s not quite sure what he did to deserve this.

This time it’s Liam who pushes Zayn back against the pillows, slipping his hand down into Zayn’s pants as soon as he’s forced down the zipper of his trousers. The sensation of Liam’s hands, pumping slow but firm, twisting at the head to make Zayn moan into Liam’s mouth, is enough to have him back to full hardness in no time, pulsing his hips in tiny thrusts to meet Liam’s movements.

And then Zayn’s phone goes off again.

He’s torn, and he can see the reluctance in Liam’s eyes to let him go, his hand unmoving but still tight around Zayn’s cock.

“Is answering it going to fix things?” Liam asks quietly.

“No- probably not,” Zayn admits, equally hushed.

The phone continues ringing.

“Then maybe…don’t answer it. Just for tonight,” Liam whispers, as though this is a secret no one else needs to know about.

Still ringing.

Zayn drops Liam’s pleading gaze and rolls out from under Liam.

“Hey, Dee, you alright?”

He wants to explain to Liam; wants to tell her how _she’s my_ sister _and I’m supposed to look after her, but I_ can’t.

But Liam’s rolled away too, and Zayn thinks that Liam will always probably be one of the most understanding, best people he’s ever known, but right now they’re both sitting on opposite sides of the bed, still half hard and desperate, while Zayn is risking the bright glimmer of _something_ by taking a phone call at three thirty in the morning.

And Zayn wants to breach the gap, because he’s afraid if he lets this go it’ll escape for good and he knows, on some level, that no one, not even his upset sister, really expects him to take calls at this time of night.

But Doniya sounds desolate, and Zayn feels guilty and helpless, and Liam has always been this constant force that surely won’t leave him now.

When Liam shuts the door quietly behind him, Zayn’s chest echoes hollow.

***

_Three nights to Christmas_

_***_

Zayn’s not long out of the shower – debating whether to actually put on proper clothes and maybe head out later, find something (or someone) to clear his head, or if he should just tug yesterday’s sweats back on and curl up in front of the telly with a sad movie and mope – when there’s a knock at his hotel door.

“Hey!”

He’s about to tell the scruffy-looking bloke to piss off when he opens the door, before he double takes like a flaming cartoon character, eyes widening as he realises it’s _Niall_ standing there with a cheek-splitting grin, clearly trying not to laugh at Zayn’s reaction.

“Niall?”

“Told you I had a plan, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you’re not actually going through with this _genuinely_ stupid plan are you?” Zayn’s mouth is still agape, and he gestures loosely up and down at Niall to try and elaborate. Niall’s not dressed that much different to normal; old jeans and scuffed sneakers, hoodie thrown on over top of what Zayn presumed to be a singlet, the hem of which was hanging beneath the thick jumper. But it’s the _hair_ which had thrown Zayn, and which continues to steal his attention. It’s scruffily styled, Zayn doesn’t think it’s been cut, but it’s trademark blonde has been replaced with a brown so dark it’s almost the same as Zayn’s own hair. It doesn’t maybe suit him as much as the blonde did, or his naturally softer brown, but the darkness is striking against his pale skin.

He’s carrying a large rucksack, thrown over one shoulder and making him lean to one side.

“Course I bloody am, mate. Now budge up and let me past will ya? This bag’s a bitch,” Niall shoves past Zayn and lets himself in, dumping his bag in the nearest armchair and flopping himself on the bed.

“Not that I’m complaining but- why’re you here, mate? Thought you were headed home today?” Zayn avoids the more obvious question for now, while he thought of a more reasonable way of asking _have you jumped off the fucking deep end?_

“Yeah, well that was step number two of the plan, right? After the disguise obviously,” Niall waggles his eyebrows at Zayn in a way that makes him think he needs to limit the amount of time he spends with Louis if it leads to crazy shit like this.

“Right, yeah, course…no ok I just know I’m going to regret asking but what exactly is the plan?” Zayn leans heavily against the bench of the kitchenette, folding his arms in front of him.

“Australia!”

“Well, yeah, I gathered that – although I did honestly think you’d been joking, Ni – but how exactly is this going to work?”

“Oh. Right. Well the rest of my stuff’s going home today. Just not me,” Niall explains succinctly, and mostly comprehendible.

“Okay…and where are you going, then?” Zayn asks slowly, quickly adding, “And don’t just say ‘Australia!’ either,” before Niall can answer.

Niall does look slightly put out at Zayn’s spoiling his fun, but still answers with a fast smile, “Adelaide!”

“Um. Why?”

“Because they won’t expect it! If anyone hears I’ve gone to Aussie, they’ll think I’m in Sydney or Melbourne or somewhere. Apparently it’s got some pretty decent food and sights, and the zoo’s fairly legit, and there’ll be loads of uni girls off on summer break too. I can’t lose!”

Zayn has to give him the fact that he sounds like this is at least superficially planned out.

“Security?”

“I _might’ve_ told them that I was kipping with Louis while he gets through this Eleanor shit until he goes home Monday…so I don’t think they’re going to come looking for me straight away.”

“Jeez, Niall, you know the shit’s gonna hit the fan when you get back, right?”

“Yeah,” Niall runs his hand through his newly dark hair, before looking back to Zayn with a mischievous grin that could probably light up the entire NYC power grid, “but it’s going to be worth it. Imagine the story it’ll make.”

Zayn just shakes his head, a little bit speechless. It’s not like he’s going to be able to talk him out of this anyway; Niall’s like a dog with a bone when he wants to be.

“God, okay. One more question; why are you in my room then?”

 “Couldn’t be seen sneaking out of the room I checked out of half an hour ago, could I?” Niall’s grin gets wider, if at all possible. “And who else is going to keep me company until my red-eye?”

“Ugh, you’re a twat.” Zayn chucks a pillow at him from the chair closest, and lugs the rucksack off of it so he can slump in its place. “Why’s your bag so flaming full, anyway? ‘S’not like you need many clothes in Australia this time of year.”

“Ah, mate. You think that bag is filled with clothes?” Niall points at it with more enthusiasm than Zayn considers necessary. “Like hell it is. It is chock-a-block _full_ with condoms.”

 _Well this will definitely make a story of_ some _sort._

***

It’s late that night when Zayn’s walked Niall as far as the elevator to see him off; not wanting to go any further with him in case people see them together and put two and two and actually get four for once.

He’ll be heading home tomorrow, no reason to stay in New York any longer now they’ve finished up with interviews, and he misses his family; wants to be with them for the holidays.

He’s trying not to picture the mess awaiting him, needing to be forced into his bags in the next few hours if he doesn’t want to get up horrendously early to sort it in the morning, when he almost runs into Liam, decked out in sports clothing, looking as though he’s about to head down to the hotel gym.

They haven’t really talked since the other night, but Zayn tries not to let it infuse his voice with, well, anything out of the ordinary when he asks, “Bit late for it, isn’t it?”

Liam shrugs. “Been trying for an early night, but I couldn’t manage to fall asleep. You in for the night, now?”

“Yeah; got a bit of packing to do first, but I’m kinda wiped. Haven’t been sleeping too well the past couple nights either.”

“I-” Liam looks as though there’s something else he wants to say, mouth opening slightly and his brow creasing in the way it does when he’s trying not to get worked up about something, but it falls from his face quick enough.

“Goodnight, Zayn.”

And Zayn tries not to belie the fact that he feels like he’s been kicked forcibly in the gut.

“Goodnight, Liam.”

***

_Two nights to Christmas_

_***_

Technically, it’s Christmas Eve now.

Technically, it’s Louis’ birthday.

And if he’s not allowed to do something unbelievably stupid on his 21st birthday – one final nod to his uproarious and unforgettable youth before he has to at least pretend to grow up – then fuck everyone else.

This is what he tells himself as he walks down the hallway of the hotel that isn’t his, and tries to ignore the gnawing pit in his stomach.

When Harry opens the door and his eyes alight on Louis, Louis tries to catalogue the slideshow of emotions that flicker across his face; _delightconfusionwariness_. He tries to hold on to the fact that it’s delight which is still Harry’s default response, even now.

He silently holds up the A2 pieces of card he’d written up, half drunk and desperate, and lets Harry see the first one when he hears a familiar female voice from the main room of the suite, out of their line of vision, asking who it is.

_Tell her it’s Paul._

“It’s just Paul,” Harry manages, sounding at least half-convincing which is really an improvement for Harry, especially since his face is still torn with confusion.

“Well tell him to be quick, I want to finish the movie; I don’t get why it’s your favourite – it’s so _sappy_.”

Harry swallows as he yells back a, “’kay,” and gives Louis a pointed look that he better continue as the sounds of a kettle being boiled drift down the short hall.

_With any luck, by next year_

_I’ll be going out with one of these…_

He fights his own grin when Harry starts biting his lip, trying to control a giggle as he sees the pictures on the next card; of David Beckham, Barbara Palvin, and of a shirtless Zayn, complete with abs and enlarged biceps drawn in with black sharpie.

_But for now let me say,_

_Without hope or agenda,_

Harry’s smile has fallen off his face, not shaded with concern or anger, but his forehead furrows, and he glances up to meet Louis’ eyes for a moment.

_Just because it’s my birthday –_

_(and on your birthday you’re allowed to do stupid things)_

_To me, you are perfect_

When Harry looks back up at Louis, his face is soft and his eyes searching, but Louis doesn’t stop, can’t stop until this is all out and he can maybe learn how to move on.

_And my wasted heart will love you_

_Until you look like this…_

It’s unstoppable, the bark of laughter that is Louis’ favourite, which bursts forth from Harry when he sees the picture of Mick Jagger on the next card. By some miracle, it doesn’t bring anyone searching to find the cause of it.

_Merry Christmas_

And Harry whispers, barely audible, “ _Happy Birthday_ ”

It’s done.

Louis’ done what he came to do, and that’s tell Harry how he feels. Now, as he turns away from the door and heads back towards the elevator, he can maybe have a bit of a cry, but then in a few hours’ time at the very butt crack of dawn, he’ll be flying home.

Home in time for Christmas.

Even now it’s enough to bring a small glimmer of a smile to his face.

But then an arm’s turning him round again, and it’s Harry, staring down at him with too many different and unreadable emotions darting on and off his face for Louis to memorise this time.

And then he’s pressing his lips softly to Louis’, once, twice and pulling away again.

He doesn’t say anything – neither of them do – but he smiles small, tugging Louis’ coat collar straight, before he gives him a parting look and goes back inside his room.

It’s possibly the best and cruellest thing anyone’s ever done to Louis.

Though, as Louis starts walking again, he thinks that maybe it feels a little like closure.

“Enough,” he says to himself as he pushes the button for the elevator.

“Enough now.”

***

_Christmas Eve_

_***_

Australia is _stifling_.

Niall knew it was going to be hot, of course it would be; it was mid-summer there.

But knowing that a place gets to forty degrees and actually _experiencing_ forty degree weather are apparently quite different things.

Especially when it was snowing in the last place you touched down.

Still, it’s mildly cooler in the pub Niall finds just outside the city centre, enough so that it doesn’t quite feel like his singlet is about to melt itself into his skin.

He’s about a pint and a half in and talking to one of the guys working the bar when a girl, who must be similar to Niall’s age, turns from the other barman taking her order and simply says, “Oh my god.”

And shit, Niall’s convinced his anonymous adventure is going to be over before it’s even begun, but the girl continues.

“Are you from Ireland?”

Or not, apparently.

“Yes, yes I am.”

“Oh, that is so cute,” she reaches a hand out, offering it along the bar, “Hi, I’m Jen.”

And then she _giggles_.

This may just end up being even easier than Niall had thought.

“Zee?”

Another girl, sitting in a corner table flicking through her phone, looks up at her name.

“Yeah?”

“This is…” she pauses and looks to Niall, who panics for a split second, trying to figure out a name he wouldn’t forget immediately.

“Uh, Sean.” The bastard would get great kicks out of this later, Niall is sure.

The girl comes over and shakes his hand, “Cute name. Zee.” And yep, she’s fluttering her eyelashes.

“Sean’s from Ireland.”

“Yep; Mullingar.” If they haven’t recognised him yet then he doesn’t think his hometown will change that.

And the way they both say _oh_ , you’d think that Mullingar is the sexiest place in the universe.

“Just _wait_ until Allie gets here,” Zee tells him, “she’s _crazy_ about British guys.”

He decides he’s not even going to correct her.

“Well speak of the devil,” Jen shifts her gaze to somewhere past Niall’s shoulder, “Hey Allie; come meet Sean – he’s from Ireland.”

“Well step aside girls, first round’s on me.”

He doesn’t even know how it happens, but somehow he’s managed to be sat in a bar, getting drinks bought for him, talking to not one, but _three_ insanely gorgeous girls who all apparently have a thing for guys with accents, and _none_ of whom recognise the face beneath the hair dye and cheap clothes.

“Where are you staying?” Allie asks him, several hours later.

“I don’t actually know,” Niall admits, “I’m sure somewhere still has rooms available. Here for an adventure and all that.”

All the girls kind of shriek a little at that, but nothing like what Niall’s used to – deafening and borderline hysterical; this is more like they think he’s adorable – not quite the sex appeal he was hoping for, but he’d take it.

“Oh my god, that is _so cute_ ,” Jen gushes.

“No, no, no. Ok, so this might seem a bit weird or creepy or whatever,” Zee jumps in over the others, “but why don’t you come back and sleep at our hotel?” which has the other girls quickly agreeing.

Niall’s kind of glad it’s him they’ve met and not some serial killer type.

“Well, I mean…if it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”

“God, no!” Zee assures him, “Shit, Mary and Jess are going to be killing themselves that they decided to spend Christmas at home.”

“This’ll teach them,” Allie laughs, but she’s pulling a face. “There is one problem, though.”

“What?” Niall hopes it’s not that _they’re_ the serial killers (why was he watching horror movies on the plane again?)

“Well,” Zee starts, “We’re not the richest of girls…”

“We came into the city for a bit of a girls week for the holidays,” Jen jumps in, “but it’s most of our savings – so everything’s on a bit of a budget…”

“And we could only afford the one hotel room to share,” Zee explains, “and there’s just the one bed…so you’d have to share with all of us…”

“And the weather’s been so damn hot lately, so it’s going to be awfully crowded and sweaty and stuff,” Allie adds.

“We couldn’t even afford an air conditioned room,” Jen apologises, “so we kinda have had to forego pajamas the past couple nights.”

“Really?” Niall takes a long pull at his beer, hoping he’s only flushed from the heat.

“Mhmm,” Zee agrees, “Which means…we would be naked.”

Niall takes the shortest of moments, to run very quickly over the situation before him, and to school his expression, before nodding a little and telling them, “No…no, I’m sure that’d be fine.”

 _Yayy_ , the girls quietly cheer, and Niall’s really not that upset either.

“Oh…” Allie makes a noise of discontent, “the thing that’s gonna make it even _more_ crowded,” the girls all look at her and make sounds of realisation, “ _Maddy._ You haven’t met Maddy!”

“There’s a fourth one?” Niall hopes he didn’t sound as excited as he thinks he might’ve.

 _Yeah, yeah_ , they chorus.

“Don’t worry,” Jen assures him, “You’re totally gonna like her because she’s,” she raises her hand that isn’t still holding her beer to do the inverted commas thing, “the ‘sexy one’.”

And this is why Niall likes Australia.

***

It’s barely six thirty a.m. and Louis’ blearily making his way through the check-in at the airport and moves on towards the security gates.

He’d not gotten much sleep in the end, and he’s just hoping he can stay upright long enough to find his seat and then sleep away the better part of the flight.

He’s cutting it close enough to time that the flight has already started to board when the departure lounge is in sight, and he’s glad that here at least, he’s not going to have to sit around while other people sit around whispering behind hands and taking not-so-subtle pictures to show their friends and prove that Louis Tomlinson was on _their_ flight.

Of course, that’s when a hand grasps Louis by his bicep, because people have no bloody consideration, and Louis’ really ready to turn around and tell this person that _it’s great you’re a fan and all and we really appreciate it but it’s far too early for this and I’m going to miss my plane if you don’t leave which means_ I _don’t get to see my family for Christmas_ (and that is pretty much the only happy thought holding Louis together right now).

Only.

_It’s Harry._

And that’s the last coherent thought Louis has before Harry’s lips crash into his own, nothing like the night before. Before it was friendship and well-meaning and crippling disappointment. This time it’s passion and desperation and sudden sparks of hope setting alight Louis’ ribs so his chest probably looks a bit like a Christmas tree, he imagines.

Harry pulls away almost as abruptly as he began, and his beanie’s skewed and there are spots of colour high on his cheeks, and he’s panting in a way that isn’t just the breathlessness Louis’ feeling from the kiss.

But he’s looking straight at Louis and he can’t keep the smile off his face and then he’s leaning forward to murmur in Louis’ ear.

“I think you’re perfect too, you know.”

And then Louis’ physically hauling Harry’s face around to connect it to his again.

Harry doesn’t let it last nearly long enough before pulling away, chuckling throatily.

“You’re gonna miss your flight if you don’t hurry, Lou; don’t want to be in trouble with Jay if you miss Christmas.”

Not that Louis would ever pout, but his lips do fall, he’ll allow, and Harry brushes his thumb along Louis’ cheekbone tenderly.

“Go on. I’ll see you Boxing Day.”

Louis’ eyes lift; Harry’s supposed to be staying in New York ‘til the new year.

“Really?”

“Getting a ticket as we speak, with any luck. Pick me up from the airport?”

“Course.”

Harry gives Louis a wee shove away from him.

“Go on. They’re not going to hold the plane, not even for Louis Tomlinson.”

“As if they wouldn’t,” Louis mutters before pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s lips, just because he can, and does as he’s told. Everything else can be sorted out another time.

He can still feel Harry’s eyes on him as he finally walks away, so he may sashay his arse just a tiny bit more with each step than normal.

He’s halfway to the gate, though, when he turns around to see Harry grinning dorkily after him.

“Wait. How’d you get in here anyway? It’s passengers only and all that, innit?.”

Harry at least has the grace to blush.

“I might’ve told Paul as we got here that one of the douchey papz that always get way too close and pushy had assaulted me and he punched him in the face…and then when everyone was distracted and breaking it up I kinda sprinted through the gate and didn’t stop ‘til I reached you. I’m hoping if I’m already walking back by the time they find me they won’t have me arrested.”

Louis doesn’t know whether to be impressed or horrified. He does know that he can’t help running back to Harry and throwing his arms round, holding him tight.

“Trust you to cause a ruckus,” he mumbles into Harry’s jumper.

“I learnt from the best,” and Louis can hear the smile in Harry’s voice.

“You’re the biggest sap I know.”

“Yeah, but I’m your sap.”

Louis disentangles himself once more and this time he’s definitely going to get on that plane.

“Boxing Day?”

“It’s a date.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> thank you and hope you enjoyed, comments are literal air to me (yes literal - and you don't want me to die do you?)
> 
> for those who care - i apologise for the borderline 'insert-self'ness of the final Niall section (hopefully it didn't come across that way). dedicated to my niall-stan babes, you should know who you are. but especially to maddy who helped hold my hand writing this yesterday.
> 
> also. sorry about the het. i don't write het. this is why i shouldn't write het.


End file.
